


Balanced on a Thread

by building_a_desert



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Footsie, M/M, Prompt Fill, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1602704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/building_a_desert/pseuds/building_a_desert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was selfish, he wasn't denying it. But it was what he needed, what they both needed. So much had to be left unspoken, either due to necessity of silence or from the unsatisfying reconstruction of thoughts through words. Being permitted this tiny handful of privacy made their connection intimate on an entirely different level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balanced on a Thread

**Author's Note:**

> SO GUESS WHO'S THE WORST AUTHOR EVER. only not really, but i still kinda suck for not updating for so long. My job sucks and I have a social life outside the internet (though I do adore all of you) so writing sometimes isn't on the forefront of my brain. But this fic is inspired by a conversation I had with a fellow Grimecest shipper on tumblr, where she threw out the adorable/totally risque scenario of Carl playing footsie with Rick while others are near. Then I went a little overboard and added in a few extra kinks ._. BUUUT i hope the length sort of makes up for the long wait.
> 
> I'd also like to thank the lovely Sophie, or 5sos-looks-soo-perfect on tumblr, for beta'ing this fic! She helped me with my shitty habit of run-on sentences and PAINFULLY REDUNDANT USE OF COMMAS. Srsly lady, you're amazing, so keep up the good work with your own writing. If any of you are fans of 5 SOS and like slashin them boys together, give her fics a read~ I don't know anything about the band, but all the kids seem to love it these days.
> 
> So enjoy, folks! Also, comments are kind of the life blood of my writing. I'd looove to know what you think~ ;3

* * *

 

                Carl often watched Rick. Even when his mind wandered, caught up in his own subconscious, he couldn’t help the way his eyes instinctively came back to rest on the constant figure that was his father. All sharp angles, a sturdy frame, and two piercing blue eyes situated high like twin lighthouse beams. Rick Grimes was a sight the boy consistently found comfort in.

 

                He sat around the main table with several of the council members. Not everyone was present, mostly because this wasn’t so much a meeting as an impromptu discussion. Their recent joining with the citizens of Woodbury was often the reason for the core members to keep tabs on everything, and to congregate for a small window of time whenever the need arose. They ran on a system of checks and balances.

 

                 Now it wasn’t as if Carl spent every waking moment with his father, like they couldn’t do anything without each other. There were hours in his day invested solely in keeping watch from one of the towers, nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. And while his thoughts often drifted back towards the older man (thoughts that a son shouldn’t have about his father and thoughts that definitely shouldn’t be _returned_ ), Carl was more than capable of being on his own.

 

                But every time they were in a room together, it seemed like their attention was immediately, almost involuntarily, redirected. Like magnets coming within a certain distance, their opposite charges sought each other out, locking onto their respective counterpart. It was during these times that everyone else sort of ceased to _exist_ , even if just for a moment.

 

                It was selfish, he wasn’t denying it. But it was what he needed, what they _both_ needed. So much had to be left unspoken, either due to necessity of silence or from the unsatisfying reconstruction of thoughts through words. Being permitted this tiny handful of privacy made their connection intimate on an entirely different level.

 

                Carl would take a physical mental assessment of his father, gauging his mood, his demeanour, slipping effortlessly into place, as if Carl was the anchor the man might need. In return, he would feel those eyes raking over his body, paternal concern laced with a deeper longing so _obvious_ that the boy wondered how everyone didn’t know by now. Carl would carefully divert his gaze most days, finding it easier to pretend he wasn’t paying attention while knowing full well his father’s thoughts were drifting towards him in the same way.

 

                It was a pattern that didn’t break. Carl felt that they were dependent on each other, felt an obligation to his father that surpassed every other responsibility he had. Judith, he knew, being the only exception. But where others have stepped in to care for the infant, no one could have possibly _hoped_ to offer what Carl provided Rick. No one could fill the role he did, not anymore.

 

                The gaping chasm that remained in Lori’s wake left the boy and his father upended, their world getting just that much dimmer, and it only felt natural when they began growing closer. It didn’t happen instantaneously, both needing to grieve separately, needing their space. But it was the little things that gradually added up over time. Sitting together at meals was easy, as conversation wasn’t strictly necessary. They began spending the afternoon together, Judith acting as somewhat of a buffer, often with Carl cradling her in his arms while Rick looked on.

 

                After a while the man stopped keeping his distance quite so extensively. He began standing closer, draping one arm around Carl’s shoulders while he gently cooed and ran his fingers along the baby’s face. More than once the boy found his eyes locked with his father’s and an old, uncomfortably familiar hammering in his heart would begin. But these moments never lasted more than a few seconds before one of them would shy away, the air taking on a very distinct change. They never spoke about these instances though, both of them being fairly good at avoiding the elephant in the room.

 

                It became something of a nightly routine that Carl would visit his father before bed; the reasons were varied. From the very real concern that Rick wouldn’t be there- would be lost somewhere inside the prison or lost inside his own mind in anger, guilt, grief- or else the impulsive need to see the man, Carl didn’t try and differentiate between the two.

 

                But whatever it started as, it all resulted in the same thing. Carl would often sit with Rick, would get swept away in the late night conversations, even move to lie on the bed alongside the man. The two felt so at ease with occupying the same space that it didn’t feel strange or new or alien, just _right._

 

                Their dialogue ranged from a diverse number of subjects. They didn’t just sift through the smatterings of heartache and loss, but discussed each other’s fears, their dreams, long dead or just blooming, it didn’t matter. For the first time in his life, Carl felt he could interact with his father on a cognitive level, like he wasn’t just a child grappling for any adult to explain what was _going on_. Now things had shifted, giving him more of the burden to bear, something he hadn’t realized he’d been so ready to take on.

 

                “Not a day goes by that I stop wishin’ we didn’t have to be here,” Rick had whispered one evening. They hadn’t said many words up until that point, mostly just taking up solace in one another’s company. The two had laid side by side then, a clear space between their bodies. To Carl, it marked a boundary they hadn’t yet crossed.

 

                Resting on his back gave Carl the opportunity to lay his hat over his stomach. More specifically, it gave him the opportunity for his fingers to dance along the surface, play with loose strings, run around the rim, _anything_ to keep his hands busy.

 

                He mulled over the words and waited for an elaboration that never came. He understood the deeper meaning, it was obvious _. No one_ wanted to be in danger anymore, in a constant state of fear and their own struggle for survival. It was hell every day, even protected by concrete walls and barbed wire. And Carl knew, for all the security it provided, Rick resented the prison.

 

                His father’s words tended to be thought out, saying exactly what he felt, succinct as he could make it. But they also tended to have a duality to them. And that night, Rick’s mood had been somber from the moment his son had entered the cell. The boy could only imagine how long his father had dwelled with nothing but his own negativity for company.

 

                “So, stop wishing for anything.” Carl’s voice had come out just above a whisper, not intending to sound confrontational. He turned onto his side, subsequently bringing himself closer and catching Rick’s gaze. He remembered pausing here, consciously leaving his expression open, wanting his father to know he wasn’t throwing words back in his face. There wasn’t anything wrong with what Rick had said, what he hoped for. But it was circular logic and, in the end, just a hindrance.

 

                “Wishes make us powerless,” he continued. “We can wish for food, but we’ll still be hungry. All we can do now is… _react_ ,” Carl sighed softly, shrugging one shoulder, “To _whatever_ situation we’re in.” He stopped again, and let a small smile cross his face.

 

                “But, Dad, _our_ situation, here, at the prison? It’s _okay_.” Carl remembered reaching forward, by habit at this point, and gently grasping his father’s sleeve. For stability or for support, he wasn’t sure.

 

                “Just.. think about how you react to it.”

 

                As nights wore on, it was all too easy for Carl to drift off in the comforting presence of his father. They’d often wake up pressed together, the boy having curled up into Rick’s chest while the man’s strong arms wrapped protectively around his son. Even – _especially_ – in sleep, they sought comfort from one another.

 

                This continued, in no specific pattern. Sometimes they slept in their respective beds; sometimes they only talked for minutes before needing to part ways. Any emotions Carl experienced these days were muddled, like murky water he didn’t feel brave enough traversing. He knew lines were blurring, that the things people did for each other, _with_ each other, were different now, everything was. Lingering touches and looks that never seemed to end made way for confusion and doubt, but Carl continued to be a moth drawn in by the flame of his father.

 

                One night, the boy found himself awakened by hands – hands that had held him so gently just before sleep – now running up and down his chest and torso. Kisses mouthed at his neck, beard tickling and scratching the delicate skin there. His instinctive reaction was to fight, to struggle, but Carl could make out the little whispers, small words breathed into his ear, entirely contradictory to the rough handling of his body. Quiet, urgent pleas and what sounded like cries of denial, but the voice was wrong, heavy and slurred, and Carl’s sleep addled brain wasn’t sure how to process the situation.

 

                He had tried to turn and face his father, to ask him what he was doing, what was _wrong_ , when Rick’s trembling arms tightened around his body, keeping his back pressed tightly to the man’s front. But as he looked he had glimpsed the tightly closed eyes, and it was with that factor that it dawned on him.

 

                The words whispered into his ear were heavy with _sleep_ , the embrace he found himself caught in held an element of neediness the man seldom exhibited during his waking hours. A mantra was murmured into his skin, and he couldn’t contain the shiver that escaped at the gesture, especially when he could hear the sound of his own _name._

 

                Feeling like a veritable teddy bear, Carl slowly trailed his fingers up and down the arms encircling his body, slowing their movements with gentle caresses that worked to slacken tensed muscle. The soft touch offered what little comfort he could to his father, a man caught in the terrors of his own mind.

 

                “I’m safe.” he whispered back, unsure if any of his words would carry over, if they would even help. “I’m _here_ , Dad. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

                But everything came full circle when Carl’s own subconscious let him know how disquieted it, too, had become.

 

                If he was being honest, he couldn’t remember the majority of his dreams these days. He assumed they consisted of memories, his own anxieties and doubts, as he seldom felt well rested, even with a full eight or nine hours. 

 

                In that one night in particular, all Carl could remember was jolt of panic, like missing a step going downstairs in the dark. It only took a moment before he could register the sound of his name being whispered, the feeling of fingers gently cradling his face while a forehead pressed to his own. And the teen would have blamed the adrenaline, the _fear_ still clouding his mind, for what he did next, but he’d be lying if he said they were the only reasons.

 

                His lips had connected with his father’s before he knew it, hands desperately clutching to the man’s shirt, using it as leverage. The hands that carded through his hair stilled, and Carl felt crushing dismay when Rick’s body tensed. He remembered fearing his father would pull away in that moment, would reject him from his bed, his cell.

 

                He remembered, within those few short milliseconds, imagining the tortuous discussion, what it meant and why it happened, where Carl would be forced to feign callousness, indifference, even force himself to laugh if he needed to, even if it would have killed him inside, just _anything_ to make things right again –

 

                But that line of thought had been cut the instant the lips beneath his began responding. Carl could recall inhaling shakily through his nose, caught entirely off guard, while the first sparks of hope surged through his chest. Any doubt, any _regret_ was quickly stamped out as those arms moved to enclose him, pulling him in as Rick quickly – and _gently,_ so gently – took control of the kiss.

 

                Everything was different now. It was true. The world had lost all governing bodies within a short two years. But that night solidified the polar shift _they_ underwent; it was the catalyst that ensured they could never go back to the way things were.

 

                The council meetings were important, obviously. Carl knew that they were vital to everyone’s survival and that these meetings needed to happen. He knew the safety of the prison relied on healthy communication, knew that this wasn’t the place to behave like a child. He was, however, feeling a little less than forgiving after this morning’s activities. Or _lack_ thereof.

 

                He’d been awoken by a trail of kisses leading up his chest and neck, finally claiming his lips the moment his eyes fluttered open. Carl felt the chuckle that rumbled through Rick’s chest as his own body responded, so finely tuned to the older man’s touch that he was hard in a moment’s notice.

 

                He had tried to pull the man closer, to prolong the contact and hopefully continue down the quickly spiraling and familiar path. Rick had acquiesced, a positively _amused_ smile crossing his lips, and those hands began giving long sweeps down his son’s body, palming the boy’s eager erection, while Carl could do little more than let himself get swept away in the spontaneous and _demanding_ sensations.

 

                But the moment the boy pulled back to breathe, Rick maintained the distance, letting his smile slacken into something more much more fond, and mumbled a quiet, “Goin’ on a run with Daryl today. You be good now,” before he was up and out of the cell, vanishing like a fleeting dream.

 

                The ordeal had left the teen nonplussed and _frustrated_ , to say the very least.

 

                Which brought Carl back to the present. He was seated directly across from Rick, though he had refrained from acknowledging the man much. His own presence wasn’t commented on, something that was a testament to how far he’d come; it was nice no longer be treated as a child. He was expected to understand their plans and he had responsibilities within the group. Maybe it was because of this that he felt a small twinge of guilt, but Carl schooled his features into something resembling rapt attention, and glanced around at the others.

 

                Daryl stood off to one side, lips twisted and arms crossed, signs indicative of Indicating his captured focus. Michonne braced her arms on the edge of the table next to Carol, who was scanning over maps and labelling any tapped out resources. They had already ransacked most of the stores that weren’t taken by the dead, and the surrounding neighbourhoods were few and far between. Hershel, seated opposite Carol and beside Rick, was explaining the state of their dwindling medical supplies.

 

                “The problem,” the man elaborated, “isn’t that there’s nowhere nearby to _get_ what we need, but that everywhere within a fifty mile radius is probably cleared out or, more likely, overrun.”

 

                Daryl fiddled with one of his arrows, looking contemplative. “We saw a Dentist’s. ‘Round ten miles south of here?” He gave a nod towards Rick. “Drove past it today. It looked local, someone’s old house. Figure some family musta’ run it.”

 

                Carl spoke up, looking skeptical. “But did it look deserted? Getting a search party out there wouldn’t be hard, but it’d help if we were sure the place wasn’t filled with Walkers. _Or_ other people,” he added, casting his own glance towards Rick. His father voiced his agreement.

 

                “So we send out a small group, three, no more than four, people. Scout the place out from a distance, and from there we’ll judge whether it’s worth approaching.”

 

                Michonne and Daryl chimed in to volunteer, and the conversation continued from there. Carl, now satisfied that everyone’s attention was preoccupied, slowly turned his gaze onto his father. The man looked focused, elbows resting on the table with his hands folded together, index fingers extended to press against his lips. His brows furrowed, clearly deep in concentration.

 

                The boy felt a little flutter in his chest, followed by the slow pooling of heat somewhere lower. Having Rick in such close proximity, even with an audience, induced a biochemical response in his brain. He could make out the musky scent that clung to the older man, could see the brilliant mind at work just below the surface. Carl was – at the expense of sounding dramatic – enamoured by Rick and, unfortunately, still hadn’t quite mastered shutting off the part of his brain that reacted so _strongly_ to him _._

 

                But he wanted to tease the man, make _him_ squirm and feel hot and bothered by something miniscule, something that would never evoke the same response if administered by anyone but Carl. While the teen, more often than not, initiated things in private, Rick never did have any qualms about touching his son in front of people.

 

                All of them could be easily dismissed as paternal affection. A ruffling of the boy’s hair didn’t turn any heads, but if anyone cared to look close enough they’d notice the tender way Rick’s finger would trace the rim of Carl’s ear, hand sliding away only to tighten marginally on the back of the teen’s neck. Sometimes the older man would throw an arm around Carl’s shoulders, pulling his son close to his side before pressing a kiss to his temple.

 

                It spoke volumes that Rick was so hesitant to move too quickly, apply too much pressure, or be too _rough_ when no one was looking. Because when it came down to it, Carl called most of the shots. Some might say his father was taking advantage of him, that their relationship had to be the result of coercion, of a young boy with a disorganized flurry of emotion deeply confused and alone.

 

                But the older man was _deeply_ afraid of hurting his son. There wasn’t a night spent together that Rick didn’t hesitate every few minutes. Not a night that Rick didn’t backtrack and make sure for the umpteenth time that yes, _Carl was okay._ The boy meant everything to him, and he kept a strict vigil for signs of discomfort.

                But the events of this morning were still fresh, and Carl wasn’t about to forget the way he’d been led on, harmless and downright _playful_ as it was. And with the rest of the council talking amongst themselves, problem solved for the moment at least, the boy thought it fair to do a little leading on of his own.

 

                With a little wriggling of his toes and the help of his other foot, the boy easily slid off one loosely-tied boot. He rested his chin in one palm, elbow on the table, and made himself look interested in the discussion, before he slowly extended his leg and ran his toes along the inside of Rick’s calf. He felt the muscles tense immediately, could see in his peripheral vision the quick glance the man gave him, but he gave no indication other than the corners of his lips curling ever so slightly.

 

                The teen continued, unhindered thus far, gently digging his toes into the stiff tissue of the man’s leg as he moved in an upwards motion. The boy knew _exactly_ what kind of reaction he was evoking, and, despite the others’ presence – or maybe because of it – he felt a similar, heady sort of intoxication.

 

                Carl could sense the change in the air, felt the delicate bubble forming around Rick and himself, a nonverbal exchange unknown to anyone but them. It was precarious and guaranteed no privacy, the only physical barrier shielding them from view being the tabletop. Somewhere, he noted the conversation had shifted to their current water supply, but it was background noise. The tension he held with the older man was _palpable,_ but only to them.

 

                Chancing a glance, the boy looked towards his father and had to work to withhold the smile that wanted to break through. Rick maintained an attentive demeanour, but the look he gave Carl conveyed something deeper, something intense, dwelling just under the surface. The warning read loud and clear, but the teen was riding on a rush of excitement of the risk he was toying with, and in that moment chose not to heed it.

 

                Making sure to firmly lock eyes, Carl continued the ascent up Rick’s leg, but the man shifted and the contact was broken. Still, that _look_ remained steadfast in his eyes, and in return, Carl offered only a slight upward tilt of his eyebrow, a subtle challenge.

 

                There was no need to rush this, though. He let Rick settle again and, pretending to have given up, turned his attention back towards the rest of the council.

 

                “And then there’s the matter of food,” Carol was commenting. “We haven’t had a lot of rain, so the crops haven’t been producing as much. And with so many more people, we should prioritize how much water is used, and for what.” She gave a little shake of her head, looking bemused. “Some are a little _too_ liberal about showering.”

 

                Daryl nodded, running a hand through his hair. “They had it good in Woodbury. S’pose it makes sense they’d feel a little more entitled.”

 

                “They might have been spoiled, but they’re not stupid,” Carl asserted, thoughts drifting towards Patrick and the younger children.  He shrugged, “They know we don’t have unlimited resources. If we just explain how it is, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

                “So we set up some ground rules,” Michonne intoned simply.

 

                “We’ve lived together this long. We just need to keep communicating,” Hershel concurred, and the look he gave Rick prompted everyone else to turn, waiting for their leader’s input.

 

                Carl didn’t need a moment’s hesitation before using this opportunity to his advantage. As Rick began to speak, the boy breached the distance between them under the table, swiftly tracing the inseam along the man’s jeans, leading higher until his toes swiped gently across Rick’s inner thigh. He fought back a grin and made the effort to look reasonably innocent, awaiting his father’s response just like the others.

 

                The man’s voice caught, something he covered surprisingly well with a discreet cough, and answered, “We’ll have an assembly, this evening, after everyone’s had their fill.” The look he sent Carl’s way was burning, reaffirming the boy that yes, Rick’s words _often_ had a double meaning.

 

                The thought sent a wave through Carl, and he pressed his advantage, heedless of the droning voices around them. The teen wanted his father to keep looking at him, intense and bordering on dangerous. He wanted _more_ as his toes inched closer to the man’s groin, not quite touching, just _barely gracing_ the outline of Rick’s barely repressed need. Carl let the smallest smile tug at his lips, eager to have his father at the precipice of control. To force the man’s hand into _losing_ that control, into putting his son in his place, into –

 

                “I think we’re all in agreement then. Your thoughts, Rick?”

 

                Hershel’s voice broke through and it was easy enough for Carl to look indifferent, apparently content with the conclusion of the meeting. Yet again, he gave his father that _expectant_ look, waiting for the man to respond, though he had no idea what the man was supposed to be responding _to._

 

                Rick just nodded, gaze skirting away from his son and towards the rest of the group, “I don’t see a problem with it,” he confirmed, though a moment later those heavy lidded eyes were fixed back on Carl, sending a jolt of excitement through the boy. Words _paled_ in comparison to message conveyed in that acute expression.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                The moment Carl’s back hit the wall, his lips were captured in a fierce kiss. His body responded instinctively, _wantonly_ , arching into Rick’s form while his hands grasped fistfuls of the man’s shirt. After the others had gone their separate ways he had been hauled, as surreptitiously as possible, deep into the administrative section of the prison. The warden’s office was their commonplace. Unconventional, maybe, but it was a sanctuary where the fear of discovery wasn’t quite so prominent.

 

                He moaned, trying to pull Rick closer, but the man instantly denied him this, actually pulling _away_ instead. Carl tilted his head back and gazed up at the piercing expression leveled at him with another flare of emotion.

 

                Rick’s voice came out low. It skirted a very narrow line between furious and arousal, possibly even a blend of the two, “Care to explain what that was back there?”

 

                Carl swallowed, but let that smile finally emerge, his heartbeat quickening. “Just thought I’d make things even.”

 

                “Even?”

 

                “From this morning.”

 

                Rick’s eyebrow twitched, though he refrained from giving anything else away. In an almost textbook display of dominance, the man rested his forearms on the wall, letting his fingers splay (long, thick, _wide_ ) on either side of his son’s head. Carl shivered at that. He didn’t care that his own body language responded in kind, face falling to one side to reveal more of his neck and shoulders. He refused to break the eye contact, however, wanting to avidly file away every look, every micro expression, his father made.

 

                “You think what you did made us even?” Rick’s face would have remained impregnable if not for that underlying current of _frustration._ His lips were pursed slightly; a bead of sweat pearling at his temple, and the boy certainly wasn’t naïve to the need pushing insistently against his father’s fly. 

 

                Carl shrugged, licking his lips, “Made us something.” His heart was hammering, but he maintained the façade of confidence.

 

                He leaned up, balancing on his toes to close the distance between their lips again, only for one of the hands beside his head to entangle within his hair. Gently but firmly, Rick refused Carl a kiss, and leaned down instead. His lips rested a hair’s breadth from his ear.

 

                “It made us a lot of things, boy, not one of them even.”

 

                Carl felt himself being lifted and although he was handled with care – his father was deliberate in _every_ movement with him – he was quickly maneuvered to lay over the spacious desk just a few footsteps away. The boy felt the breath get knocked out of him; he knew this was less from impact though, and more from the sight of Rick looming over him.

 

                The position was similar to their last, though Carl felt a considerable disadvantage that wasn’t present when the wall was a factor. Now his legs were splayed wide while his father settled between them. Chorded arms caged him in. This, coupled with the sudden and somewhat _jarring_ vulnerability that came with his hat toppling off, the boy could only let his breathing speed up to mirror his heartbeat.

 

                He let out a breathy moan as the man descended, lips roughly working on his neck, a hand pulling the collar of his shirt to one side for better access. Carl’s jeans felt too constricting, stretched tight over his need as he rocked helplessly against Rick. The answering hardness he found there made his breath catch. There was so much satisfaction in _him_ being the reason for his father’s arousal. Carl never wanted anyone else to be on Rick’s mind when they were together. He wanted to be the sole cause for any wandering thoughts when they were apart.

 

                Carl found himself grinding shamelessly against the older man, seeking as much contact as possible, but Rick pulled away after sucking a sizeable mark onto his son’s shoulder. The boy could feel the tender spot even now, but he was more preoccupied with tugging his father back down, the sensations washing over his body.

 

                “Dad,” he breathed, locking eyes with the man for only a moment before those hands slipped under the hem of his shirt and stripped it off, quickly followed by his shoes, jeans, and underwear. In a few short moments Carl was laid bare for his father.

 

                “You wanna _tease_?” Rick muttered, voice low. “You wanna behave like a child?”

 

                The boy couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. His hands clutched at the man’s arms, either to entice him closer, or break through the fog clouding his mind, Carl wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he _needed_ to maintain physical contact, feeling all the more indecent while Rick remained fully clothed.

 

                “That depends,” he replied, not caring that his voice gave a little shake, one hand snaking down the length of his father’s body to grasp the man’s heavy cock through his trousers. He gave it a few long, _slow_ pumps, “Are you gonna treat me like one?”

 

                The words had barely left his mouth before Carl found himself being bodily turned. Big, warm palms supported him in all the right places so as to cause him no discomfort. The boy quickly propped himself up on his elbows while he was all but forced to stand on his toes, as the height of the desk rivaled the length of his legs. This resulted in an unintentional (but _very_ willing) display.

 

                The slow inhale behind him made Carl laugh breathlessly. He turned his head to meet the penetrating gaze of his father. The man’s eyes caught his, though not before raking over the expanse of his back and, though the boy couldn’t be sure, settling on his tight opening, so freely offered to Rick.

 

                Apparently, his amusement wasn’t appreciated, because Carl felt hands seize his hips and pull him back with surprising speed. He could feel Rick’s length through his pants, hot and hard and _demanding_ , as it ran along his hole.

 

                "Dad," he gasped again, the implication of that simple motion forcing his brain to freeze on that one frame. His own member was leaking precum onto the oak desktop. It throbbed as it was forced forward and created a painfully delicious friction. He fell limp and conceded to the older man, shifting his face so he could speak properly.

 

                 “Just let me,” he began, not really caring about forming full sentences, one arm reaching for the drawer on the side of the desk. They’d come here often enough to be prepared at this point, and Carl was well accustomed to the lube stashed safely away from prying eyes.

 

                But Rick had other ideas. The older man's hands once again gripped his hips, though he pried himself away from the boy.  Carl wasn’t able to squirm enough (while still clinging to any shred of dignity) to bring them back into contact.

 

                “Not yet,” the boy heard his father’s voice, firm and final, but was given no other warning before one hand came down hard on his bottom.

 

                Carl let out a surprised cry at the action, his hips stuttering forward, but not out of pain—not at _all_. He was left momentarily speechless. Rick had never physically disciplined the boy before, not in the name of corporal punishment and certainly not intimately. But this was new; this was _different_ , and definitely not undesirable.

                “Uhnn,” he bit out, arching into another smack, “I – _Dad!_ ” The hand came down several more times, never applying too much pressure to inflict real pain, never meaning to cause damage. It was a show of dominance and the boy was feeling _far too_ receptive of it.

 

                “Just look at you,” Rick’s rough voice grated out behind him. Carl opened his mouth to reply, something about how _he_ _obviously couldn’t_ , when the hand supporting his waist twined its way around his leaking erection.  It effectively turned any intelligible response into a drawn out moan.

 

                “You thought you’d get off with that _display_ back there? Huh?” Fingers stroked and caressed his length, harsh breaths in his ear, “Scott free?”

 

                Carl’s legs strained with the combined effort of supporting their own weight as well as the rocking motion of his hips. But he didn’t care about the stress his body was feeling, didn’t register the discomfort as _uncomfortable_. Instead it was an element that enhanced every sensation.

 

                “No,” he whimpered, hands scrabbling for purchase across the slick surface of the desk, “No I – I _knew_ you’d – ” but Carl hissed as his father smoothed trailed a hand over the tender skin of his bottom, the touch itself gentle, though the message his brain received made him arch into it.

 

                “Knew I’d what?”

 

                The boy groaned, eyes squeezing shut as the hand around him tightened. It was followed by a single finger tracing along his perineum and rubbing tiny circles against his opening.

 

                “I knew you’d _do_ something,” he gasped, pushing back. He wanted to be filled up and taken by the older man. He needed to feel controlled, needed to feel free of his responsibilities and his _ego_. He couldn’t do these things without the gentle guidance of his father.

 

                The sensation of his cheeks being spread sent a thrill through him, just _knowing_ Rick was pleased with the sight. All he could manage was a sort of choked off cry, however, when the unmistakable, yet unaccustomed, feeling of his father’s _tongue_ swept over his entrance. Carl’s fingers tightened over the edges of the desk. His eyes opened wide at the unfamiliar sensation, not knowing quite how to react.

 

                Rick's tongue (and god, did it feel _obscene_ ) lapped at his entrance again. Carl burrowed his face in the crook of one arm, doing everything to muffle his cries of suddenly unsure pleasure. He was at the mercy of the foreign sensations rolling down his spine and making themselves at home in his brain.

 

                The tip traced the rim of the boy's hole, teasing, before dipping into the center and sinking shallowly inside of him, retracting, and pushing back in. Carl could only moan again, sinking his teeth into the meat of his arm as Rick’s beard scraped his already-sensitive skin. He felt more precum dripping from the head of his cock, and could do little more than tremble and gyrate within his father’s grasp.

 

                "Da-ad," he cried, "I – _please_ – " To be reduced to an inarticulate mess so easily should bother the boy, but the only thing he felt bothered by was the gentle, _teasing_ pace. The sensation itself was different but so damn intimate that he couldn’t care less. So long as it was his _father_ doing it, not much else mattered.

 

                Once again, Rick’s hand migrated to Carl's front where his member throbbed, neglected. The teen let out a sob as the man’s large fingers engulfed him and begun to stroke in a rhythm complimenting the slick slide and thrusts of his tongue. The boy could feel the fire within him rising higher and higher.

 

                A breathy shout escaped his lips. He rocked forward into the steady grip and backwards into the tongue laving over his opening, instinctively unsure of which direction to move his body. Rick could always do this; always whittle the boy down to the bare bones until nothing was left but raw _unadulterated_ _need_. He just needed his father to keep going, to keep _all_ of his attention fixed on his son.

 

                “ _Please_ Dad, I’m ready – I _want_ you,” he gasped, words tumbling out so fast his thoughts had trouble keeping up. “C’mon, I just – ”

 

                Quick as lightning, the man was stretched over his back, pinning the boy to the desk with ease. His groin was pressed snug to Carl’s bottom again, " _You’re_ the one that wanted to tease,” Rick intoned quietly, “Now you wanna be impatient?”

 

                The way his father ran his hands all along the teen’s naked body, with such a desperate touch, with such _reverence_ , combined with the very evident arousal nudging against him, made him let out an incredulous laugh.

 

                “ _I’m_ being impatient,” he replied, with a teasing little smile followed by a roll of his hips. The man didn’t say a word however, apart from a cut off grunt as Carl continued to try and coax more reactions from him, _relishing_ in the temptation he presented his father with. He watched as Rick leaned forward to – _finally_ –extract the lube from the desk drawer.

 

                Only a few seconds passed before he felt the cool slide of Rick's index finger massaging the rim of his opening. Carl breathed out slowly, and the digit burrowed deeper, fitting snugly inside him. He inhaled shakily. Being opened up by his father always made him feel a little less in control, and he needed to remember to bite down on his lip in order to contain an embarrassing noise. But he couldn’t quite manage to hold onto his senses when, after only a moment's pause, his father adjusted the angle by the smallest measure, and rubbed against his prostate with enough force to land just shy of painful.

 

                "Oh my god – _Dad,_ ” Carl cried, moving in unison with the push and pull motion, wanting more, wanting bigger and deeper and _harder_. There was nothing that could compare to crossing every boundary with his father, nothing that made him feel more alive than fulfilling every role possible for the man he relied on most in the world. The second and third slick-coated fingers were quickly added, causing the boy's breathing to come out in gasps. He rolled his hips backwards onto Rick’s hand.

 

                _"Th_ _at’s_ it,” the man murmured, and Carl felt his breath leave him along with his father’s fingers. He consciously made the effort to relax; it was something he’d practiced enough in preparation of these moments with Rick. To his surprise though, the arms he expected to further prop him up instead returned him to his earlier position, draped over the desk on his back.

 

                The boy watched as Rick hastily undid his pants and pulled them down just far enough to release his swollen need. Carl licked his lips at the sight. His gaze was transfixed, taking a moment to appreciate how the man applied lube along his thick shaft, and he eagerly reached forward to help.

 

                After gently sliding Rick’s hands out of the way, the teen made _sure_ to maintain eye contact. He tugged in a downward motion, lightly, _teasingly_ , aiming to rile the man up. Carl’s small palms worked the shaft, ending at the head with a slight twisting motion. This, much to the teen’s delight, resulted in his father jerking forward, an unchecked grunt escaping his lips.

 

                Rick leaned down, balancing on one arm over the boy, while the other grasped his erection. His eyes searched his son’s, verifying for himself that he wasn’t going against the boy’s wishes, that he wasn’t forcing anything on Carl. If he didn’t find it so endearing, the teen was sure he’d put up more of a fuss. But the fact remained that it was him, _always him_ , on the forefront of his father’s mind. It made the action that much more meaningful.

 

                "You ready?" the older man asked. Carl settled for a kiss that felt as desperate leaving him as it did being returned, and it served as an excellent distraction when the head of Rick's cock nudged against his opening. The boy drew back for air, willfully relaxing himself and granting entrance to Rick, knowing full well the low exhale that deeply resembled a growl was due to _him._

 

                Carl’s arms coiled around his father’s shoulders, fingers of one hand twisting in the man’s curls, while its twin irreparably wrinkled the fabric of Rick’s shirt. He whimpered. His voice box was clearly beyond his control at that point, and he could do little more than tighten his legs around the older man’s waist in some struggle for balance.

 

                He still hadn’t gotten used to it, the initial, _slow,_ burn of being penetrated. Or perhaps it was the almost spiritual level of ecstasy inherent in having his father inside of him, but the end result always remained the same. Carl squeezed his eyes shut, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as he latched onto _any_ semblance of self-control.

 

                But it seemed Rick’s carefully reined-in restraint was unraveling just as fast. Carl keened as his father bottomed out, heavy balls resting snug against him. He could feel the small tremors racking through the man’s body. His father’s muscles were straining from the tension of refusing _millions of years_ of musculature instinct in favour of ensuring that he wasn’t causing his son pain.

 

                He was always thankful for it. Even though it wasn’t something he’d openly discuss, sheer physical mass had to be taken into account. It dictated, namely, that Carl was admittedly smaller than Rick, and he certainly felt every inch of the man as it pulsed inside him, stretching him to a degree that he would find uncomfortable, were it anyone else.

 

                But the simple fact remained that the boy was willing, _happy_ even, to suffer this passing moment of discomfort in order to fully experience everything the man he loved had to offer. Rick- considerate, attentive, _protective_ Rick- fulfilled just about every role in his life that Carl could ever ask for.

 

                Once he felt a little less desperate, a little further from the edge, the teen pulled his face back from the home it had found between his father’s neck and shoulder. He knew his cheeks were flushed and had no way of slowing down the pounding of his heart. But he didn’t want to be passive. Carl gave a little wriggle of his hips, used his inner muscles to tighten around the wide girth of Rick’s cock, and laughed breathlessly at the involuntary thrust he received in return.

 

                “C’mon,” he half-moaned, feeling somewhere in the middle of _extremely_ _satisfied_ and _desperately in need_ , “you _know_ I can take it.”

 

                The hands, braced on either side of him, shifted to slide under his shoulders. They grasped delicate bones with a gentle, though controlling touch. Carl let himself get pulled closer, even aiding in it by grasping more fistfuls of Rick’s shirt. In that moment he realized he’d forgotten how comforting it was to be held so _completely_ in his father’s arms.

 

                “I know you can,” was whispered into his hair. The simple acknowledgement contained such _gratitude_ that Carl felt his breath catch slightly. His fingers tightened their grip. A surge of emotion was twisting through his stomach and up his spine, causing his mind to race with a flurry of excitement. The older man occupied a place in his mind so deep-seated that he wasn’t sure there was _anything_ that could uproot it. Rick was his reason for surviving; his entire purpose in life was intrinsically linked to the man above him and _inside_ him.

 

                Before any thoughts could seep through his mouth however, Carl felt the slow drag of his father retreating. The tight ring of his entrance hugged the head of the man’s length upon its withdrawal. This resulted in a high-pitched whine, but it was abruptly cut short by the quick snap of Rick’s hips. The boy felt his body jolted by the movement, but was held fast as the fingers restraining him clutched a little harder, a little closer _,_ and that thought alone made his arousal throb.

 

                A steady rhythm was established. Rick used the leverage he had to draw Carl’s body closer on every stroke, and the teen could only let himself be maneuvered. He relished in the ease of how his father could control his body, driven into with such ardent ferocity with _nothing_ but Rick as a pillar. It left him feeling adrift and anchored all at once, something that he internally indulged in.

 

                “Dad,” he moaned, “I – _ah!”_ A heavy thrust to his prostate, a deep rumbling from the resulting chuckle.

 

                “This what you want?” Rick’s voice sounded strained and amused all at once, “You want it hard? Huh?” He punctuated his words with several inward thrusts, and Carl could do nothing but rub helplessly against his father’s stomach. “You want it _rough?”_

_“Yes,”_ he cried. He couldn’t express, not in words, how badly he needed this. How badly he _needed_ the sheer physicality of their feelings to manifest with this degree of intensity. Because no matter how often they were together, there was _still_ too much held back.

 

                But now, it seemed they had shed their anxieties, discarded preconceived fears and trepidations concerning the other. Carl felt inexplicably _freer_. With his father’s capable arms supporting him, _cradling him,_ it was monumentally easier to let go of his inhibitions.

 

                “Tell me _exactly_ what you want,” Rick whispered harshly.

 

                “I want _you,”_ the boy bleated out honestly. His voice broke as his eyebrows knitted together. The head of his father’s length struck his prostate several times in quick succession, before applying a few moments of insistent _pressure._

 

                Quiet grunts were muffled in the crook of Carl's neck. Hot air puffed against his already overheated body while lips pressed wet kisses to every inch of skin they could find. The teen inwardly tightened his muscles, wanting to feel every ridge and vein on the erection driving deeper and deeper into his very core, and felt more than heard the resulting moan from Rick. He wasn’t able to contain the sense of delight that it was _him_ , despite in a position of extreme vulnerability, who reined at least that much power over his father.

 

                Rick had released one shoulder to grasp onto Carl's erection, something the boy honestly hadn't been that concerned with. One large palm stroked him quickly, almost perfectly in sync with the man’s own thrusts. Clearly his father wasn’t going to last long but, as always, found the presence of mind to dedicate solely to his son's pleasure.

 

                "Uhn – _Dad_ ," the teen called out, hips jerking back and forth. His legs tightened around the man’s waist again, pulling him impossibly closer, impossibly deeper, while Rick's breath came out as gasps. His father’s urgency issued forth in deep moans and his tightening grip, both foretelling a quickly approaching climax.

 

                Feeling the same pressing need in his own groin, balls tight while his shaft dripped precum, Carl could hear his voice rise in volume. He let his words coax his father on, mindless things like _harder_ , _faster,_ and _more._ But it wasn’t until he breathed out “ _Daddy”_ that his completion was upon him.

 

                The boy saw white, hips rocking of their own accord, heedless of any and all words coming out of his mouth. Deep murmuring accompanied his cries. Again though, he caught only small snippets, Rick's voice so low he had to strain to hear it over the man’s frenzied thrusts.

 

 _"C’mon_ , sweetheart, _that’s_ it,” his father didn’t even seem aware of the words, “Perfect, my _perfect_ boy, Daddy’s got you.”

 

                 The sentences laced together, Rick's arms wrapped tight around Carl’s torso now, holding the teen so tightly he was fairly sure he’d be bruised later. For now, his brain was in a comfortable haze. He could do little more than continue to meet the heavy thrusts rocking his body over and over and over and _over_ until the familiar internal throbbing began. It was soon followed by the sensation of his father’s essence flowing inside of him, marking him, branding him. Making him Rick's and Rick his until they might as well have been the same person for at least a few blinding, hour-long seconds.

 

                The warmth of the older man’s bigger body engulfing his own, keeping him immobile, was really too comforting for words. Carl’s arms held Rick tight against him and he let out a sigh when those strong arms refuse to release him, holding him just as tight.

 

                There wasn’t any place for words, not just yet. Lips trailed down his neck to the junction leading down his shoulder. They were gentle and unhurried, the simplest and least exerting form of affection his father could manage. Rick captured his lips again, kissing him slowly, as if afraid he'd been too rough, afraid he'd screwed up somehow. Pulling back, Carl realized he'd never get tired of being this close to the man. Face to face, this was where they could be completely open and bare for each other to see, but more importantly _accept_.

 

                Rick stroked the boy’s cheek and brushed sweat soaked bangs away from his forehead. Opening his eyes, Carl watched as his father’s gaze settled on him, drinking in the no doubt debauched sight he presented.

 

                Being as gentle as possible, the older man leant back and, gripping himself at the base, eased himself out of Carl’s body. The boy himself let out a small sound of discomfort, never quite growing used to _that_ feeling either. He watched Rick tuck himself back into his pants and made to sit up before his vision was obscured as Rick’s arms enveloped him once again. Carl found his face buried in the damp, sweat-soaked fabric of his father’s shirt and instinctively wrapped his own limbs back around the man.

 

                "Did I hurt you?" was murmured next to his ear, one hand cupped around the back of his head.

 

                Carl couldn’t help the laugh that shook his frame, though it came out weaker than he intended. "No, Dad,” his tone was light, lacking any of the usual gravity the teen felt he usually carried with him, "No, you didn't. Anyway, I’m _pretty sure_ I asked for it."

 

                He tilted his head up to kiss Rick, slow, less like the tango and more like a waltz. Pulling back, he raised a finger and traced it over the man's cheek, across his nose, and up to his forehead. He smiled softly, a sated sort of weariness pulling at his bones.

 

                “But we should probably get back,” he said, “its almost time for dinner; they’ll start wondering where we are.”

 

                But his father continued to peer at him, the man forever searching for what wasn’t there and blind to what was. “You’d let me know? If it was too much?”

 

                Carl gave a small roll of his eyes and, instead of gracing Rick with a verbal response, settled on another kiss. It seemed, at least between the two of them, most things were best communicated without the use of words. He coaxed the older man’s tongue into his mouth, engaging his father in a silent dance where neither led the other with any real certainty.

 

                After separating, the boy felt a shiver travel up his spine. The prior exertion had left a sheen of sweat, now having cooled, along his skin. Rick seemed to take notice of his discomfort, because the man immediately stepped away to fetch Carl’s clothing. The teen felt mildly embarrassed, but did nothing to stop (and in fact aided in) his father redressing him.

 

                “I’ll always tell you what I think,” he muttered, watching Rick’s fingers deftly buttoning up his shirt. “We can’t have secrets about this. So if I don’t like something,” Carl’s eyes flickered up to his father’s, raising his eyebrows, “I’m gonna let you know, Dad.”

 

                Rick let out a single breath of laughter. The action was due more to relief than humour, but the boy smiled in return just the same. A large, warm hand stroked his hair again, and he allowed himself a moment to lean into the touch before moving to slip off the desk.

 

                The instant his feet touched the ground, however, Carl couldn't hold back a pained grunt. His spine protested loudly to the sudden movement, and he was left with the very real dilemma of moving with any semblance of normalcy. He staggered under the tender sensations wracking his body. The teen felt undeniably _raw_.

 

               Fortunately he didn’t have to suffer the humiliation of falling to his knees, as Rick was at his side in a mere moment, supporting him. The older man looked concerned, on the verge of saying something when Carl interrupted with another pointed look.

 

                “We’ll just be more careful next time,” he shrugged, “Or not. You’re pretty fun to tease.”

 

                Rick’s concern was replaced, at least in part, by a look of amusement. “Next time I’ll have you over my knee,” he muttered, releasing the boy once he was sure he could stand on his own.

 

                Carl froze, before genuine laughter fell from his lips. His fingers did up his pants, eyes catching and holding his father’s. He slipped his hand into the older man’s, gripped it tight, and dipped his head gratefully when the comfortable weight of his hat was returned to his head. He took a few steps towards the exit, walking hand-in-hand with Rick.

 

                “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me at humdrum-star.tumblr.com~ Also feel free to request any Grimecest plot bunnies you've got bouncing around in your brains. ;3


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